Groups of Three
by black ink'n white paper
Summary: Rachel McFarlane is an average teenage girl; her greatest concern is school and her greatest passion is BBC Sherlock, who is the subject of all her daydreams... What would happen if he was true?, she asks herself, If she was assisting him on his cases? Only mere imaginations, Rachel thinks. Until one day, when everything should be changed...
1. Chapter 1

**Well, this is my first fanfic! It's mostly inspired by my own daydreams and asking myself 'What if...' I just had to write this down. Beta'd by the unbelievably patient and marvelous Eryberrie. Hope you enjoy!  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, only Rachel McFarlane.  
**

_A girl with jet-black hair and hazel eyes sits in a room, apparently her bedroom, drawing a picture._

_Her eyes are fixed on the picture, scanning it restlessly, as if she is looking for something she could perfect._

_Suddenly, there is a knock on the door. The girl looks up, smiling. A woman comes in; "Rachel, two men need to speak to you immediately."_

_Rachel makes her way out of the room to the hallway._

_There she's expected by two visitors - by the happy look on Rachel's face they are well known to her. One is tall, dressed in a long coat, has curly black hair, impressive piercing blue eyes. The other is smaller with short, blond hair and a kind face. _

_"Miss McFarlane," the tall man says._

_Rachel has the impression that something is wrong with his voice; too feminine. "Miss McFarlane!" he says again, this time harsher. Then he reaches out his hand as if he wants to touch her and -_

"Rachel McFarlane! I cannot tolerate this any longer! This is the third time you have been caught daydreaming in class!" Rachel's eyes flew open once she heard the interjection of her name

Her Maths teacher stood in front of her desk, glaring. Slowly, but surely, she realized where she was: Still at school, Maths class.

Everyone else was staring at her.

Most of the pupils did not even bother to hide their mocking laughter.

"Well?" The teacher asked crossly, folding her arms impatiently. "I'm expecting an explanation."

Rachel squeezed her brain to search for anything that could pass for an appropriate answer.

"Sorry. Didn't sleep well last night." she murmured, suddenly finding her pair of chucks very interesting to look at. The teacher's intimidating glare was forcing her eyes to find something else to focus on. Rachel shifted uncomfortably, wishing the ground would just open and swallow her up, to spare her from any further embarrassment.

"Sorry, what? So, you decide to get your sleep in my class? I am going to get in touch with your parents. Do I make myself clear?"

Rachel just nodded weakly, admitting defeat.

The teacher (Mrs Rollington - a doddery, cat-loving woman) gave her one last angry glare before finally returning to the table board whilst babbling about how impolite all the students had become.

Rachel tried to hide her embarrassment and the upcoming blush by rummaging around her bag.

She had never been one of the most popular pupils and was used to being laughed at. Yet, she could not stand being humiliated by Mrs Rollington, who absolutely hated her. Rachel however, had no idea what she'd done wrong. From their first meeting, Mrs Rollington had it in for her. No matter what she did or what she said, she'd always receive at least one ungrounded barb per lesson. It had become a regular occurrence.

During the rest of the lesson, Rachel scribbled on her notepad and tried to avoid Mrs Rollington's icy gaze. She would have to brace herself for a D in Maths.

Alright, she was not one of the students who took school super-seriously, but she tried to stay at middle range and this little incident had definitely not been helpful. If anything, it had only worsened Mrs Rollington's and Rachel's already tensed relationship.

A glance at her timetable told Rachel that this was her last lesson today, which made her relax a bit. After twenty more minutes of classroom-torture, she was freed by the sound of the bell.

She packed her stuff as fast as she could into her bag, grabbed it and left the room, feeling relieved from the moment she was out of it. Rachel turned on her MP3 player and tried to concentrate on the music and small details in her surroundings to take her mind off all the things that had happened that day. With long and fast steps, she made her way out of the school.

Robin McFarlane was a medium sized girl, who would describe herself as shy, loyal and intelligent. She had issues building up relationships and found it far easier to flee into her daydreams rather than facing her loneliness and problems. And that is how she would handle the incident at school: repression and daydreams. It might be seen as a bad habit but, for Robin, it was a source of creativity and ideas.

* * *

"Mum? You home?" Rachel called out into the house as she let herself in.

Her family's house was small, but cosy; it lay in Greenwich near the hospital that Rachel's mother worked at.

Today, it was oddly calm. Usually, her mother and the scent of cooked food would greet her but, today, neither of these things were there to welcome her.

Frowning, she went into the kitchen to find some food. As she approached the fridge, she found a note pinned to it with a small magnet:

_I've gone to do some shopping. Help yourself with food xx Mum_.

With a shrug, Rachel decided that the best thing to relax would be to watch her favourite TV show.

She threw herself down on the sofa in the living room, switched on the telly and was soon lost in a world of crime scenes and murders. After half an hour or so, her eyelids became heavy and she fell asleep on the sofa.

When she awoke, the telly was still running, but somebody had turned off the DVD player and now a silly animal show was being shown. _Probably Mum; she loves that sort of stuff,_ Rachel thought.

The shutters were down, but a few rays of light illuminated the room.

Suddenly, the sweet smell of pancakes interrupted her thoughts.

"Mum? What day is it today?" she called out, as she wandered about the living room. When she did not receive any answer, she followed the alluring scent into the kitchen. Here, her mother, Lillian (a woman in her mid-forties and a brunette, passionate cook) was making pancakes, humming a song Rachel didn't recognize.

"So, what day is it today?"

"Saturday." Rachel replied shortly.

"Mrs Rollington's called you." Rachel stated. Lillian raised an eyebrow at this, as if to ask how she knew. It didn't take Rachel long to think of her answer: "Well, you're not calling me 'darling' or 'honey,' as you usually do. Secondly, every time you're nervous or frustrated you start humming and, thirdly, last night you let me sleep on the sofa and you tucked me up, which you only do when you're in an especially good mood, so she couldn't have called you yesterday. Therefore, Mrs. Rollington called you this morning."

She was quite proud of herself. Not due to her keener than normal skills of observation but because of how quickly she had rattled it down. Rachel smiled at her mother's confounded expression.

"I know you asked me not to imitate Sherlock, but I'm helplessly addicted to it." she said lightheartedly, while helping herself with a pancake.

Her mother leaned against the counter, folding her arms and asked a question with one word: "Sherlock ?"

"Yeah, Sherlock Holmes." Rachel said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Am I supposed to know who that is?"

Rachel almost choked on the pancake.

"Mum, you know who Sherlock Holmes is! Are you kidding?"

But her mother's face was way too serious to be joking.

"Rachel, I'm not in the mood for this. You're already having enough trouble, so if I were you I wouldn't act up like this."

Rachel stared at her,puzzled.

"What's wrong? I mean besides that school thing."

"You're trying to change the subject with that 'Sherlock' nonsense, and no, I'm definitely not going to fall for it. You're still in big trouble, young lady."

"Wha-what? I'm not trying to change the subject! I'm just sort of ...surprised that you can't remember our favourite show?" Rachel was poised for her Mum to exclaim 'April fool!'

"We have it on DVD and we've watched every episode together at least twice. I...I was watching it last night, remember? " she said, chuckling uneasily.

"You were watching Doctor Who."

Rachel's jaw dropped. What was possibly going on? Was this some sort of a bad prank?

"Well, I have neither the time nor the inclination to discuss this any longer. I would recommend you not to waste your time, because this is your last free day before I'm grounding you for the entire week." Lillian stated, allowing no argument.

Rachel's face fell. This was way too much for her to realize. Her Mum was acting as if she'd never heard of Sherlock and had grounded her for mentioning it. Rachel shook her head bewilderedly.

Frowning, she went to her bedroom, where another surprise should expect her...


	2. Chapter 2

**So here's Chapter 2. Hope you enjoy! **

* * *

"What the…", was all Rachel managed to utter when she entered her bedroom.

Everything, all of her belongings that related to BBC Sherlock had been replaced by Dr Who fan products.

Where there used to be a Sherlock figurine, there was now a small model of a TARDIS. Her wall, earlier decorated with countless posters and pictures showing everything from Sherlock through to a character from the show, Henry Knight, was now plastered with Daleks and Doctors. All the DVD's and books had just… _gone_!

The only thing that remained was her beloved skull Charlie, which was still on her desk, seeming to smile mischievously, as if he knew what was going on.

Rachel searched her room over and over again to the point she was close to hyperventilating. It was no use. After an hour, she collapsed into her desk chair, exhausted, clutching her head.

This _wasn't-couldn't _be true. _Wake up, _she thought, pinching herself in the arm. The last time she'd been in her room, everything had looked normal. _Am I going insane?_

"Mum" she tried to call out, but she hardly received a whisper. _Okay, stay calm, _she told herself, _inhale … exhale._

"Mum!" she exclaimed, this time stronger.

"What is it now, Rachel?" Lillian answered from downstairs, with a hint of irritation in her voice.

Robin staggered down the stairs and into the kitchen. She held on to one of the chairs to regain her balance. Her mother was just about to speak but, at the sight of her daughter's confused state, her face fell. Her earlier annoyed expression had become sheer concern.

"Oh god! What's wrong, darling?"

"Mum, wh-what happened to my room?" Rachel answered, clumsily pointing in its general direction.

"Oh, honey, I only dusted a bit. Did I accidentally break something?"

Rachel buried her face in her hands.

"It's just that everything is… _gone_."

"What do you mean? Gone?" Her mother asked.

"All the Sherlock stuff. Everything that had anything to do with the show and the books and..."

Lillian's expression turned cold.

"Oh, I see. You're starting that 'Sherlock' discussion again? Well, I'm not going to get myself into that. Oh, don't look at me like that Rachel! You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

With that, Lillian stormed off towards the living room, leaving an even more confused Rachel behind. Halfway out of the kitchen, Lillian stopped.

"We're out of milk. Do something useful, would you, and get some? Money is on the counter."

_What has just happened? _Her mother wasn't joking. She was deadly _serious_ about not knowing anything about BBC Sherlock and seemed to not even know the household name that was Sherlock Holmes. Her room didn't contain anything connected to Sherlock any more. It was disconcerting to say the least.

And now she was supposed to get some milk.


End file.
